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Crimson eyes opened with a start and stared up at the immaculate ceiling several feet above. For an amphitheatre, the low drywall challenged fire codes. If the crowd were to become rowdy, the entire building would burn to the ground. As a vampire, Samael had some immunity to flames, but if he burned to ash and the ashes spread, his fate would run parallel to that of mortals. "Mph.." He rolled onto his side and blinked, taking in the details of the remainder of his surroundings. Stages did not have dressers, doors, or photos unless a musical or play of some sort called for props. Crimson Rain never used gimmicks to attract attention aside from their vampiric image, something fans believed to be an act. The bed beneath him groaned when he turned onto his other side, coming face to face with a wall. In that moment, he realized that he was nowhere near the theater, but had just awoken from one of the most bizarre dreams he ever experienced.

"...The ******** did I do last night..?" He rubbed at his eyes and lifted himself with the help of his forearms, offering a loud yawn to the quiet room around him. Self-confidence issues never troubled him. In fact, he had far too much and his self-love reached narcissistic levels. A pathetic dream hardly bothered him for it lacked credibility. The blood he consumed a night ago must have been diseased in some way.

No, it did not worry him, but... the longer he stared at the wall, the stranger he began to feel. Could the dream be a side effect of his senses weakening? Samael mulled over the thought, considering the possibility. After all, ever since he spent a passionate night stemmed from anger, alcohol, and blood—together, they were a dangerous mix—he had felt different. Odd. Peculiar. His sense of hearing and sight weakened and he could hardly detect spilled blood with the nose he had once bragged about. If he did not know any better, he would have declared that he was becoming a...

Human.. Samael snorted softly, annoyed by the comparison he himself had come up with. Having sex with a human led to humanistic behavior, did it? If so, he would stick to vampires from now on; they seemed to be safe enough in an ironic sense. For an intimate connection between two men to present issues weeks in the future, Errol had to have hit him hard. Surely being a virgin and declaring he would bottom to show how much tougher he was than the other male had nothing to do with it. This was just the power of the Frenchman's potential. A small part of the vampire found amusement in the thought while the rest of him just ached terribly.

Sighing, the monster slid away from his blankets and stood, soon shivering when warm air brushed against his nude body. Temperature seemed to have more of an affect on him now as well. Errol's fault. It seemed to be the only logical answer. Samael trudged toward the closet door and tugged a simplistic, though tight, pair of leather pants off of its wooden hanger and held the article of clothing in front of himself. With Errol staying at his large abode, it would be wise to dress himself lest the human have any more bright ideas, though walking around without any clothes appealed to him as long as he could trouble the other man.

"Heh... Nah. My bod may give the poor b*****d a heart attack. Wouldn't want that, not when he's been so useful..." The words drifted off into space, leaving Samael in silence while he dressed himself. One leg slid into the fabric sleeve followed by the other stepping into its respective leather covering. Both of his hands moved to the sides of the pants, grabbing them by the fabric of their pockets, and raised them until they slide over his rear (and how good they made it look; it really was a shame he lacked a reflection) and rested upon his hips. He took the zipper of his pants between a thumb and a forefinger and began to tug it upwards, letting it travel the length of the zipper line, but for some reason, it could not reach the top.

A growl vibrated Samael's throat and he tugged harder. "Why the ******** won't it--?!" Eyes narrowing, he settled on a likely answer to his question. Only one person could be responsible for his clothes not fitting. A certain human man with a fetish for strange clothing must have shipped his pants off to a Laundromat of some sort so the pants could shrink. This was all an attempt at embarrassing him. Well it didn't work, Errol. You think you're so smart... Zipper hanging open, perhaps revealing a bit too much of the man's body—however this is still better than all he showed while sleeping—he stomps out of his bedroom and into the main living quarters of his suite. "MONSOUR! Get your a** over here, you b*****d!" Oh... you've done it now.

Both nostrils flared the moment Samael caught sight of the blood, but no matter how hard they tried, the scent would not register. The air smelled as odorless as it always did, even more so; he could not detect the sweet fragrance of the Frenchman's blood or body and, frankly, began to miss the taste it would always leave behind if he took a deep enough breath. It was not necessary to actually consume Errol's crimson elixir or press his lips against tan skin to savor it. The nose and taste buds of the tongue were closely linked and could not work properly unless they coexisted; it was likely he would not be able to taste much of the blood even if his tongue did dab itself in the pool that would rise from the human's neck, creating a moat around one of his fangs. He licked his lips. Since when had they begun to dry out so easily?

"You know what you did," the vampire barked in response, anger returning to his features though at the moment, it may be feigned; rage only spread so fast. He took a stride forward, followed by another and then a third, continuing until he finally reached the slightly wounded man. In the time it took for him to move close to the human, he had succeeded in returning a glare to his eyes and a scowl to his lips, looking positively beastly, though at the same time, taking on an ugly appearance seemed to be impossible for one of the undead (zombies excluded). Errol's muffled voice tightened his chest, trying to allow confusion to take over the place fury claimed as its own. The cause for the peculiar feeling remained unknown. If it were worry, not that it would be because vampires simply did not worry in the least, there did not seem to be a proper reason for experiencing the unneeded emotion. Guilt was also impossible. This all linked to his weakened senses. They threw off his attitude and gave him vertigo; he was actually feeling a tad dizzy.

One hand remained upon his zipper, desperately trying to close his pants, and the other, finding itself unoccupied, roughly grasped Errol's wrist and pulled it toward him, shoving the finger past his own dry labia. Closing his eyes, Samael began to suck on the digit as if it were some sort of lollipop a human child may find interest in. His tongue circled the cut flesh, lightly rubbing against the finger before swishing around it, its movements circular. With another rub, he murmured softly and closed his eyes. The blood, he could still taste it. The sensation of spirit and life clashing against death exploded within his oral cavity. "Mmmn..." Shivers traveled the length of his spine, prickling each bone and muscle it passed and it took much effort to prevent himself from moaning aloud softly in pleasure. Though the blood was not to his usual standards, at times it tasted much better than the AB negative he had come to love. Or, perhaps, could it have been Errol's natural taste?

Errol.

His eyes snapped open and he pulled the finger away from his lips, licking away the thin string of saliva still connecting his muscle to the warm skin. What was he doing and why was he doing it? Right, it was Errol's fault. "You know damn well what you did..." Samael huffed, voice cracking. In order to calm himself, he cleared his throat and growled. "How many ******** times do I have to tell you to not touch my s**t?! Because of you, the leather shrunk! I don't CARE what drycleaners or Laundromat you brought them to. You just DON'T TOUCH THEM!"

To emphasize his point, the vampire returned to tugging on the zipper, now with both of his hands, but each time he tried to raise it higher, the metal seemed to become stuck on his stomach area. If the clothing had shrunken no more than a centimeter less than it had, it would still fit him perfectly, but leather was always tight and had to fit just right in order to be wearable. "It... won't ********... zip up... because the ********... thing... shru—" Falling victim to his own vampiric strength, the zipper broke off of his pants and flew across the room, hitting a light bulb and shattering it. "Oh, now isn't that just great? Stupid b*****d..."

"What are you? ******** stupid? Wait... Don't answer that..." The vampire pressed a hand against Errol's forehead, pushing him with enough strength to force the man to lean backwards in order to prevent himself from falling over. Being poked and then practically called fat to his face did more than simply try his patience; it made him grow positively incensed and he felt ready to snap at any given moment. He was beautiful. Gorgeous. Sexy. The Frenchman let his jealousy interfere with logic. It was the only possible reason for his comment about drinking a bit too much blood. Not to mention that vampires could not gain weight. Adding pounds to an animated corpse was as impossible as it was illogical. Organs long dead could not absorb calories to store away for energy. Chemical changes had occurred, adapting the body to accept blood and reject solid foods (though the elder vampires could stomach most of everything). Weight gain was not going to happen any time soon.

Samael parted his lips to speak, but found himself distracted by a very obvious problem in Errol's lower region. At least it's keepin' the towel up... Though really... it'd be better if it dropped all together... He silently mused, smirking at the human's discomfort, though really, he supposed that the other being was more excited than in pain. He would have to touch up on that later. As if wanting to make Errol more comfortable, or feeling the need to tease him further, the vampire removed his own pants; they were damaged anyway so they would not be worth much outside of eBay and he would really rather not have rabid fans touch his trash, lest they make some sort of bizarre shrine or create a voodoo doll of some sort.

Shaking his head, he walked over to the counter and picked up the apple Errol had previously begun to cut into wedges before slicing his finger and releasing the finest blood Samael had tasted in a long while. "'S not like anything would happen even if I drank eighteen tubfuls of the stuff. 'S impossible. No worries, 'm stayin' as thin and sexy as ever." Samael turned the partial fruit in his fingers, observing the markings from pieces cut away from the entire mass, and licked his lips. Human food did nothing for him and he usually could not finish a piece of it, but how bad could one bite be? He closed his eyes. Perhaps human food would not be entirely nauseating.

An apple a day kept the doctor away, did it? What did it do for vampires? Well, besides attracting him to it by looking so incredibly juicy and delectable he could wait no longer to give into his cravings. Cravings? Since when did he...? This is stupid... Samael cursed softly under his breath and shoved a few apple wedges into his mouth, chewing upon each a couple times before hungrily swallowing. To his surprise, the fruit actually tasted... heavenly. And not in that Holy angel sort of way. Not wanting to miss out on the taste by sacrificing the apple to the human, he finished off the fruit by himself.

"Mm.. We need more of those..." Dismissively waving a hand, Samael sauntered back to his bedroom. "Quit touchin' my pants if you know what's good for you. 'M gonna change. Not like you have to know." He closed the door behind him and fetched a pair of cloth pants with several accessories made of chains already decorating the pockets and belt loops. The leather did not matter. These were the pants he truly wished to wear.

A haughty smirk replaced the scowl that had settled upon Samael's face. The new pair of pants he removed from his closet and dressed himself in fit; he was right, Errol had toyed with him by shrinking his clothing. If not, then the leather would have fit him perfectly like a glove fitted a hand—a bit tight but stitched to perfection in order to cover all of him while showing off the muscles of his body. Black cargo pants and onyx leather hugged the body in different ways and the fabric composition differed greatly, but he continued to stand by his strong belief of all the strange occurrences being Errol's fault. These pants hung lower as well, giving his stomach area a bit more room for comfort. However, once again refusing to wear underwear may prove to be problematic in the near future; if these pants fall any lower, a nice little crack on his dorsal side would be revealed.

Once content with his lower half, Samael takes a simplistic fishnet shirt into his hands and slips it over his head. Having always been loose, it falls over his torso with ease, aided by gravity alone. Both of his arms snake through the two sleeves, one through each, leaving him fully dressed. He takes a moment to look into a nearby mirror and rolls his eyes. Of course he would not see a reflection. Spotting his digital camera resting next to his bed, he picks it up, straightens his arm, and directs the lens toward him. After closing his eyes, his thumb presses the snapshot button, freezing an image of himself in time. The vampire had to have been a genius to get over restrictions placed upon his species and according to the picture taken, he was quite the looker too; not that he had to have a picture of himself to know this.

But something was wrong. He wrinkled his brow and brought the small camera closer to his face so he could analyze the picture more closely. His face was gorgeous, skin pale and smooth as ever. Cold lips looked a bit red, tempting the viewer to come closer if she or he dared (if it were not a picture of himself, he would be compelled to kiss it). Dark, black hair parted neatly to the side, bangs hanging a bit over one of his eyes. The collar Jennifer had given him when she accepted his species hugged his neck as it always had, never to be removed. Lower still, he could see his pectorals flexing at him, not at all hidden beneath the thin, holey shirt. Lower still, more muscles glistened in the light the flash had created. But lower than that was his abdomen and it lacked just that, abdominal muscles. Glaring—he knew that the camera was working against him—he zoomed in to take a better look. Indeed, his stomach is not well sculpted; it was never outrageously muscular, but it was at least toned. Now, however, it ceased to exist. Instead of muscles, a simple belly poked out. His eye twitched. Had he truly put on this much weight? Since when did he stop taking care of himself? Errol spoke the truth.

Throwing the camera to the bed, the screen still zoomed in on his belly, he pressed a hand against the lower portion of his torso. The frown widened when his palm could not straighten upon his skin. There was a definite bump present; it was small, but it was there. He was fat. Huge. Monstrous. Like a blimp. What had bloated him? Had he accidentally consumed diseased blood? Viruses could not affect the undead, but could they cause strange reactions within their bodies? He hoped that this was not some strange type of AIDS. Or worse. But what could really be worse than a blood disease.

He absentmindedly patted his stomach while attempting to turn his attention onto other things. What was it that Errol was saying? Something about food, right? And not having any. Shopping was needed. "I could do that. 'S gonna be a borin' night anyway." Before leaving the bedroom, Samael carefully applied make-up to his face, using only eyeliner because it was the one thing that would not make him appear entirely gay (and the ladies did seem to love the eyeliner). If he was going out, he would need to look his best, right? Fans never wanted to see a celebrity less than par unless the picture were from some tabloid's gossip piece.

Samael pushed the door open and walked past Errol, his gaze conveniently focusing on the floor and then the wall and door ahead of him. "'M goin' out. Food, right? This way, I can pick up the s**t that I like too." Liking s**t. Human s**t. This was also new, but human cuisine sounded truly wonderful. He would take advantage of being able to not only eat and enjoy the solids, but keep them down as well. None of it made sense, but he would not complain unless he gained any more weight. "Might wanna take care of your little problem when I'm gone. Unless you want to wait for me to return." Teasing the Frenchman, he smirks at him, giving Errol a look of evil intent and pure seduction. "'S up to you."

The vampire returned his attention to his path and took another step, but suddenly, something went awry. Dizziness reached his consciousness and he staggered, having to grab onto the door handle for support. What the... ********> He recovers fairly quickly and clears his throat. "Heh.. You're such an idiot, you know that?" When he had problems, why not shift the attention to someone else? Errol Moon had become a very good scapegoat.

If only Errol had finished the insult, if only the vampire's vertigo passed by unnoticed, Samael may have been fine; he may have gathered enough of his conceited mask to deter attention from setting upon his unsteadiness and focus it on something else, something expected. A confrontation composed of insults and smirks would have set the mood, mending the uncomfortable air surrounding both men. Not one derogatory word clung to the taller man's tongue or surfaced within his mind. A single curse word would have helped him regain lost comfort, but nothing came to him. Allowing a heavy blanket of silence to grow fuller, nearing a level of suffocation, he pushed Errol's hand away, mind telling him that this much was a necessity. Humans worrying for vampires, creatures of myth and horror, were unheard of. His dizziness did not warrant concern and he would not allow pity.

Samael lightly smacked Errol's hand again, physically telling the other man not to touch him, and opened the door, hardly caring that his roommate was dressed in nothing more but a bath towel. The warm air from the hallway lightly caressed his pale features, beckoning for him step forward and leave the comfort, or lack thereof, his suite provided. He felt compelled to obey, seeing the hotel, excluding his dwelling, as a place to leave behind the problems his weak self created. Errol worried about him. The worry would disappear as long as he did. Or so he believed.

"Shut up..." The vampire growled, eventually finding his weak voice. With a soft cough to clear his throat, he folded his arms and tilts his head back to raise his nose into the air in an arrogant fashion. "You're bein' stupid, MonSour. The carpet's wrinkled and my boot caught on the fold. No big deal." Realizing he had not yet actually dressed his feet, he stepped into two large, black boots decorated with buckles chains, and a one-inch platform. Unlike his leather pants, his boots were tolerable and obeyed the demanding soles of his feet. Now Errol could not comment on his feet still being bare.

He straightened out his body and gazed ahead, staring at nothing in particular. "If you're comin' with, get your a** in some clothes and follow. Don't keep me waiting, 'cause I won't." Get out of there... Samael's thoughts pleaded. Get out of there, you ******** emotional sorry excuse for a... He growled. Now that he could think of insults, they became directed toward himself rather than the French human. "'M... starving'... and trust me.. you don't wanna hang around when 'm hungry." A hand subconsciously pressed itself against his abdomen, the pads of his fingers lightly massaging his skin and the bits of fabric of his top. "Seriously... starving..." When he spoke again, Samael's voice had become quiet, distant, as if he were truly falling victim to the feelings of his stomach.

Keeping his palm resting against himself, Samael mumbled quiet words under his breath and stepped out of the suite, leaving the door open behind him. The elevator had not yet reached his floor, meaning that either no one pressed the button or it was very slow, and normally he would take the stares rather than wait for the slow mode of transportation, but at the moment, he did not quite care. It would be wiser to take the 'safe' route for once while his body fought off whatever it was he had caught, because something surely was not right. He did not know what and hated the fact that he was not at his usual level of perfection, if only for the moment, but he still knew. The button with a downward facing arrow lit up when he lightly pressed it with his pinky. Then, he stood back and waited.

All it took was one glance at Errol's face for Samael to regret ever turning toward the human man, but curiosity growing within him at the sound of the other's voice had pressured him into doing so. If worry could take physical form, the end result would be look very much like the man standing next to him; as far as the vampire was concerned, Errol was the epitome of concern. The small amount of light in the hallway reflected off of his eyes, revealing the storm of emotions brewing within. Tan skin of his brows wrinkled. And then there was that retracting of a hand once offered, an act performed in hesitation. With his current state of mind, the vampire could have imagined the strange appearance of Errol's expression, but whether the worry existed within the other man or his own head did not matter. He needed to get some fresh air into his long dead lungs. Needed to clear his head and allow the vertigo to pass as if it had never surfaced and grabbed hold of him in the first place. Why was the elevator moving so damn slowly now out of all times?

"That was fast..." He murmured softly, referring to the other man dressing himself before leaving the suite. Samael still had not given Errol's body much attention—indeed, something was wrong there since normally, he would steal secret glances—and had not seem the change between nude with towel to clothed in normal attire, but he doubted that the man would leave the suite alone; exhibitionism and streaking were not things the monster would do outside his home and it seemed less likely for Errol to take part in the aforementioned capricious actions. In other words, Errol had to have dressed himself during some point in time unless he was truly clothed all along and the guitarist had failed to realize that the man's dark skin was no longer visible. So much thinking about 'what-ifs' fueled the pounding headache surfacing throughout Samael's consciousness. He pressed a hand against his forehead.

When the doors opened, the vampire stepped into the small room, thankful for living on a high floor with very few occupants; it was nice taking a private elevator to where he needed to be without having to worry about having his space invaded, especially at a time like this. Once boarded, his finger slid over the button with a large 'L' printed upon it, pressing it down until it lit up. In that moment, Samael leaned against the wall opposite to the door, closed his eyes tightly, took a deep breath, and reopened his eyes, one of his usual smirks now planted upon his face. Why worry when he was feeling just fine? This was all psychological anyway; vampires could not become ill! The thought became humorous, deserving a soft chuckle.

"Damn, you're insane, man. Like there'd be anything wrong in the first place. What? You still half asleep or somethin'? Or did you forget I'm a vampire?" He said the word with pride. Vampire. It sounded much better than 'human' and had many more perks. Samael would refuse to fall victim to his unnatural aches and dizziness. If a human, something that had not yet undergone the pain death brought, could deal with discomfort, so could he and he would not complain about it either. He folded his arms and pressed his shoulder blades against the wall, smirk strengthening and growing larger. "Or are you hopin' something's wrong? If so, I can't really say you're gettin' off the hook that easily. 'Cause I don't like little Frenchmen who think they're all that."

Keep going... Samael's thoughts pressed through the building fog, his mental voice straining itself to remain audible within his ears. Get the little French b*****d to yell. ********' curse aloud. Something. If he's pissed, that's good. Then this worrying s**t will end and everything will be back to normal. Which.. is good... Yeah... Havin' him pissed for no reason's a good thing. It's normal. And normal's... good..?

A vibrating pocket tore Samael away from his thoughts, resulting in a not so elegant jump and gasp followed by a laugh and his usual profanity in order to cover up the action. A monster startled by a cell phone ringing? Impossible! He was just caught by surprise. One of his trembling hands reached into his pocket, extracting the electronic. Seeing the name on the caller ID welcomed a few more uttered swears, but instead of ignoring the call or hanging up, he touched the screen, accepting the call, and held the phone to his ear. "What the hell do you want, pansy?" He paused, waiting for the speaker to state his reason for bothering him along with an apology; and surprisingly enough, this is what soon follows. A worried, masculine voice chattered away through the earpiece, adding a 'sorry' after every few lines. "Easy, Des. Y'know, for a vamp, you're really more of a pansy." Silence followed by a sigh pursued. "Yeah... I'll meet you later. I've just got some things to do first. Hey, isn't it my job gettin' a hold of you, Lyn, and Ald? Y'know, as the leader of CR? 'S nice you're tryin' to get a job done, but damn..." A pause. "And would you quit apologizing already? Hell... Are you a vamp or a human?"

Samael shook his head and closed his eyes, soon taking to massaging his right temple with an index finger. Désiré had a nasty habit of conversing when silence was wanted, needed, and the old man was too nice to realize that his kind words normally did more harm than good for the younger of the two vampires. "Since you're at it, I guess tell Lyn I'll be there. You know how she gets." Sighing, he ended the call with the press of a button and returned the phone to his pocket, attention now turning toward Errol. "Yeah, this 's gonna have to be fast if you're plannin' on dragging your a** behind me. Band's getting' together since our next gig's comin' up. 'S not like we need the practice; it's all a formality I guess." As long as I start feeling like myself... The thought resulted in a shudder; his mind still insisted on telling him that he was unwell. "'M only tellin' you all this 'cause if you somehow die on your own, I'm not comin' to save you. Heh... Not like I would even if I was near you anyway." It was a lie and an obvious one at that. If he did not care, he would have left Errol alone to live upon the streets and not give him a nice room within his suite.

He closed his eyes again and rested the occipital part of his head against the reflective glass behind him. Mirrors were always strange around the man, refusing to show him a reflection of his body or worn clothing. But today, he could honestly say he had not noticed. The dizziness was returning and Samael was beginning to feel nauseous. Without food in his stomach or working organs, he knew he could not vomit, but the sensation was still strong, burning his insides. "Damn..."

A minute or so of awkward silence lingered until the elevator reached ground level, its slight jerking signaling for the vampire to open his eyes. The movement did little to help his queasiness, nausea not only continuing to burn, but now clawing at his stomach in vile hatred for the undead individual. Groaning softly, he pressed a hand against his abdomen and expelled the air previously held within his lungs, practicing deep breathing to calm his malfunctioning body. Obviously, he had done something wrong, he could no longer deny it, and now his entire system was beginning to shut down. Tired muscles and his unsettled stomach were only the beginning of something more. Something he did not quite understand and, honestly, did not care to if it would not immediately heal him. His kind cured itself seconds after experiencing pain so he should not feel so terribly ill in the first place.

He attempted to view everything from a logical perspective. There was very little that could do a vampire harm, but given his nature, it was not unlikely that Samael may have accidentally come in contact with something dangerous, something a normal human would ignore. Unlike the religious humans of the world, not a single crucifix, bible, or Holy Scripture took residence in his suite. He had gone so far as to request hotel management to remove the standard bible contained within a bedside table before bothering to move in. It seemed unlikely for him to have wallowed in Holy light; he never walked near churches or other Holy grounds, tended to stay away from those who used the word 'God' in exasperation (oh, how the name made him shudder) and took special care to replace it with 'devil' or 'demon' when he himself spoke in vexation. Not many trips had been taken during daylight hours and when he traveled under the sun's rays, the vampire had always taken precaution--he wore suntan lotion, shades, a hat, and thick clothing that covered most of his body. Only two weaknesses remained that he could think of.

Garlic and onions... I bet that that apple was laced with them... Logic thrown aside as quickly as it was gathered, Samael focused his attention on the possibility. Both aforementioned foods smelled terrible and with his senses weakening, he would not be able to detect their presence. Having never tasted human food since changing into one of the walking dead, he could not recognize any tastes a human would identify with ease. Errol had set him up, had foreseen Samael taking his food from the beginning; it was impressive, really, because the vampire had no clue what was happening to him and gave into his body's wants with little thought. The two men may fight often, but attacking in such a cowardly way was low, even for the Frenchman. So everything really was Errol's fault then, was it?

"You're... a sick b*****d..." Samael hissed, nose wrinkling in what could only be defined as disgust. Before giving an elucidation to his sudden insult, if an explanation was ever in mind, he exited the elevator, ogling his surroundings. It seemed to be a quiet night in the popular hotel. The management slacked, sharing unprofessional conversations behind the front desk because only a few individuals remained present within the lobby and those who were here were hardly delinquents. Unless, of course, the definition of 'delinquent' changed over the years and now reading magazines and looking at maps had become a crime. Wait... I think that they have all those events goin' on in the city tonight. Makes sense why no one's here. Looks like these humans have lives after all. Makes sense why it's quiet Casting a glare over his shoulder at Errol, he continued on his way, exiting the building through the automatic rotating doors at the front of the structure. More spinning. Probably not the best idea, but it was too late now. He shuddered and lightly rubbed his neck.

The fresh air helped after Samael began to stride through the night, a gentle breeze enveloping over his bare skin before weakening and dissipating. It cleared his mind and his bronchi, lifting his discomfort if only for this moment. It took little time to reach the doors of a supermarket at the end of the block. Its large structure warranted a sigh of relief and a small sweeping of joy throughout his body. Here, he would be able to pick up food for Errol, lest the man staved to death, and some for himself. The thought of food, human food, sounded far too good. And he could possibly grab some dessert in the form of that cute little cahier's 'B' blood. He did not bother glancing back at Errol--he did not know if the human man even bothered following him--before entering through the front doors and hurrying toward a display of grapes.

Glancing to his left and then to his right, watching for any witnesses, he reached his hand into one of the bags and extracted a single grape, soon popping it into his mouth. It was thievery, yes, but the way he saw things was that human laws stopped binding him the moment his human life ended. After swallowing, a grin spread across his face. The small fruit was sour, but not disgusting. It had enough of a punch to spike his curiosity and make him wish for more. He pulled another red grape off of its vine and pushed it past his lips. The juice squirted the inner sides of his cheeks when his fang punctured the delicate skin. These things were more fragile than humans. How... interesting. I've gotta pick some of these up...

Washing grapes? It sounded absurd, especially to a man who did not contract human illnesses. Food borne diseases and pesticides failed to breach a vampire's tough exterior so it was foolish to worry about rinsing a fruit before consumption. And Samael would really rather avoid water at all costs. There was something about the cool, supposedly soothing liquid that terrified him; however, he would never tell others about his embarrassing little secret. He brushed off his arm when Errol moved him to the side, but said nothing, feeling that his body language spoke much louder than words. His exhaustion competed with the want to retaliate and insult the human anyway and the latter of the two was losing, leaving him to silently seethe. Not to mention that Errol had the nerve to call him 'Samael' instead of 'Sam.' It was infuriating after all the times he had told the other man to call him by his nickname.

Samael slid his hands into his pockets and walked away, crimson eyes scanning the items in the supermarket. Yellows, greens, browns, reds, and every color in between came together the paint a scrumptious mural. Meats of all kinds, bloody and fresh, chilled in large coolers filled with ice. Fruits of all varieties rested within shallow containers or large bins, the healthier of the collections positioned in front while the rotten and older hide down below. The only exception to the rule seemed to be the tomatoes--many of those were ruptured or damaged and had been picked through so much that order ceased to exist. Vegetables rested in containers similar to their sweeter counterpart, but were mostly darker in color and looked unappetizing when raw. Rolls and breads rested upon the sides of aisles, luring customers to look at shelves they previously had no intention to. Caffeinated sodas welcomed addicted children but were greeted by worry or avoidance from parents. Who knew humans had so much to choose from? There were very few blood types, but this normal human food was plentiful. If his stomach could growl, it would have tried to communicate with every display he passed, murmuring intangible words to lure unsuspecting products into the vampire's hands for a meal later in the evening.

Faint smells teased his nose, tickling his nostrils and trying to lead him down a preordained path. He did not realize where his legs carried him until he stopped in front of an aisle. Tilting his head back, he looked up at the sign and furrowed a brow. "...Snacks?" Samael understood the word, but had never used it in terms of food edible for the living. Curiosity growing, he walked forward, ambling down the hallway. Dark boxes with the word 'Chocolate' greeted him first, the packaging hiding cookies, cakes, or just chocolate itself. He took a few products into his arms. Woman always seemed to love the food and men normally did too as long as others were not watching. Chocolate turned to vanilla and then mint, junk food changing form and size; and yet, most of it found a place in his now full arms. Something else caught his attention, something highly amusing.

"So you humans sell Ding dongs, Twinkies, and Hos. Who says money can't buy happiness?" Samael began to snicker and grabbed the three products he had mentioned, if only for laughs. "Who knows? Might be good. But you've had all of them before, haven't you?" At the moment, it is unsure if the vampire had spoken to himself or at Errol. But he had to share. It was all too hilarious. Shaking his head, he returned to the human's side and dumped his large armfuls of food into the basket, filling it with all he had found. He left for another moment before returning with a few steaks, chicken breasts, and lamb (the blood had won him over). "There, looks good." He ignored the fact that the basket now overflowed and contained more foods with many calories than anything else. Errol had already grabbed grapes and he added meat to the mix so technically, he was in the clear.